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"All the world is made of faith, truth, and pixie dust."
-J.M. Barrie
Dear Readers,
When I was a little girl, Mum would tell us stories. She'd gather my sisters and I into the den with hot teas and warm blankets on stormy nights. Beatrice and Francesca always cuddled together on the sofa, while Lyra snoozed in her playpen and I sat on Mum's lap in Grandmother's rocking chair. She'd rest her chin against the top of my head and tell us tales, sometimes from her childhood and sometimes fictional.
One of my favorites had been the muggle tale about Peter Pan. At the time, the concept of Never Neverland fascinated me with mermaids, pirates, and the Lost Boys. It had been one of Mum's favorites to tell us. She'd make voices to represent Captain Hook, and she always described the free-spirited and courageous Peter. Once Mum surprised us with a visit to a local muggle theatre that was performing the play, and then we came home and watched the movie version on the telly. Mum had been a Literature Major in Uni and she discussed differences that we noticed between the two, mostly with Bee and Franny. I was only five at the time, so I cared very little about the discussion. Being seven and six, my sisters cared very little as well, but participated better than me. I just remember falling asleep on the sofa and dreaming of when Peter Pan would swoop me away for my great adventure.
Eventually with time, I quit leaving my window unlocked and accepted that he'd never come. Then, when I turned eleven and received my Hogwarts letter, I joined my sisters in Dad's world, separate from the tales that Mum grew up in. I discovered the real magic, not the distorted fantasies muggles created, but I learned of the horrors, as well. I had known Dad ran away from the wizarding world after he graduated and even though we knew we were witches, Dad raised us only in the muggle world, as he had been.
At school I learned that Dad was considered something called a muggle-born. Both sets of my grandparents possessed no magical ability. However, the information Dad never shared was that his older brother, whom I was named after, had went to Hogwarts before his death as well. He also left out the part that my uncle was Collin Creevey, one of the causalities from the war. It was a bit of a shock for me when I was shown the memorial and noticed my name engraved in the statue, but it made a lot more sense where Dad vanished to every May 2nd.
Sometimes I liked to imagine Uncle Collin in Never Neverland, running around with the Lost Boys. He'd be forever young, free, and happy.
Now, I realize that being a Lost Boy isn't what it seemed. While they look like a family, there will always be betrayal, up-raising, and Captain Hook's to defeat. It took longer than expected, but Peter Pan did find me. He flew into my window on his broom, I helped him with his shadow, and he invited me on an adventure. The only problem was that I never considered the motives for why he ran away in the first place.
This tale is the chronicles of my discoveries about a boy afraid to grow up.
Sincerely,
C.L. Creevey
A/N: I do not own Harry Potter and obviously I am not J.K. Rowling.
I'm back to fanfiction. I took three years off to focus on my own writing, undergrad, and work. However, this story idea has been one that's been haunting me nonstop, so I needed to get it together and write it finally. I hope you all enjoy.
-K